Mary Ellen Courtney - Hannah Spring 01 - Wild Nights (17 page)

I was sandwiched between other ticket lottery losers. On the aisle was a young mother with an extra-fat crying baby. She was laid out on the tray table and needed a clean diaper.

Slouched in the window seat I coveted was a surly kid who looked like he’d been buckshot then plugged with rings and studs, and then covered with tattoos for good measure. What a mess. People who are going to decorate themselves should hire a good designer. Enough of the winging it people; make a plan. Hell, you can find out how to trick-up your pick-up on half a dozen cable channels. Isn’t your body just as important? It’s supposed to be our temple.

I wasn’t opposed to tattoos; I’d even considered getting one. Karin had a tramp stamp on her tailbone that I thought looked hot. But so far I hadn’t been drunk enough to submit to the buzzing needle on the same day I thought it was a good idea. Never mind deciding on a design for all time.

Maybe I’d pitch a new show when I got back.
Trick-up Your Temple
.
Embellish Your Belly
, though that restricted the canvas. Maybe,
Design Your Shrine
. I could design personal tattoos. Whole families could get them, like micro-chipping their dog. I could call them
Clan Brands
. Even the dog could get one. We’d zap everybody at the same time. It would be a wholesome family show. I could take back the cowboy code that had been co-opted by gangbanger do-rags and taggers; families could “ride for the brand” again. Lovers may come and lovers may go, but families seem to stick like honey on your elbow. Obviously there were some things that needed to be worked out; like the divorce rate, and our obsession with
the individual
.

The kid who needed my show ignored the request to turn off all electronic devices. He blurped and grunted an alien dialect into his cell phone until the flight attendant threatened to take it away from him. He was wearing a nose clobbering aftershave, with not even fuzz in sight. Even with the dirty diaper and his whatever, I could already smell the phone booth sized bathroom. What a medley, and we’d barely left the ground. We would spend the flight with people standing next to our seats, smiling idly. I chose to ignore the fact that I’d gotten the worst of the worst seats and focused instead on having a superior
People
flight. In my defense, I’d spent enough time in Alanon to know I’d pay for being a snob before I died, probably before the day was out.

The plane left behind the brown and green foothills smelling of chemicals, cow shit and burned bacon. Stroud and Leeann were married and making plans for the baby. Steve would be getting his passport out of the bottom drawer of his desk and packing for Mexico and for a woman who fit his picture. I got out of my seat and stood in the galley bent over looking out the window.

We crossed the margin of the continent with its lines of white water eroding the shoreline. The solid rock would resist as long as possible, but would eventually give itself over to become pebbles, then grains of sand, then dust. I’d listened to a scientist on NPR during the shuttle ride to the airport. He claimed that if all the space between all the atoms making up all the people on earth were squeezed out, the entire population of the planet would compress down to something smaller than a cube of sugar. I saw millions of joyful little Matisse people dancing in a conga line on every grain of sand. The plane swept over dark water, farther out to sea.

I climbed back in my seat, which was a big production for the young mother. By way of apology, I bounced her Mama Cass on my hip while she used the toilet, then fetched her a coke. I picked at a box lunch of non-food items and talked to the baby in a normal voice while she gummed Cheerios. I’m not sure her mother appreciated me recounting the escapades of Vampire Chick. I gave her the PG version. I figured the sooner she knew to keep her sex life off camera, the better. She took a swig of cold water from a sippy cup, turned slightly blue, and then coughed a cold slime Cheerio ball into my face and hair. Fortunately my mouth was closed. The kid next to me snarked; I accidentally elbowed him. I held the coke and steadied the baby while the mother dug out wipes for everyone. I guess that falls under the heading
no good deed goes unpunished
.

I pulled the hood of my sweatshirt up around my face, bunched up my jacket and put my head down on the tray table. I was so tired I managed to fall asleep that way, even with the baby giving me little kicks to the head. We bounced our approach. The kid fired up and blurped, and the baby screamed with unpopped ears. I was never so glad to get off a plane.

Hawaii feels like home, the dense air wrapped like a hundred warm arms. I drove through a Waimea stuck in the 1960s, and followed the directions to a small cottage down a dirt residential road. It was remote, not good if you planned to slosh back mai tais, then drive. It was on the beach, but set back in a shady grove. It was a Hawaiian version of my place in L.A. A big bed was covered in a Hawaiian quilt with a romantic mosquito net on a ring overhead. Two rattan chairs with thick cushions shared an ottoman, table, and good light. An old bookcase held a worn copy of
Hawaii
and a tired checkers set with a red replacement piece made from a pizza box. Someone had carefully cut around a picture of a slice of pepperoni; it worked great. I love it when people leave a hit of their personality behind. There were two hurricane lamps and a big box of wooden matches.

The tiny lean-to bathroom light was a bare bulb in a socket with a metal bead chain. A hand-lettered sign with little lightning bolts warned me to be sure my feet were dry before pulling the chain. I realized I was alone. I could be electro-dead for a week next to the toilet and no one would know.

The kitchenette was a strip along the wall. A small drop-leaf table and two rattan chairs rounded things out. They sat in front of a window overlooking the back porch and beach beyond. I tried out the view from the porch; it was shallow enough to sit in a chair and use the railing for my feet. There was a classic round wooden hot tub for two. Steve would hate it. It was perfect.

I dumped my bag and drove back to Kapa’a for groceries. Then I opened shutters and doors and took pictures to send to Karin. I included a picture of the pepperoni checkers piece.

I called her. “Aloha. I just sent you pictures.”

“Got them. Wish I were there, it’s a zoo around here.”

“How are your parents?”

“Fine.”

“You don’t sound so fine.”

“At the moment I suspect the perky thing doing the chick stunts on Oscar’s film is doing Oscar too.”

“You’re kidding!”

“Only sorta.”

“You can’t do that. You guys are my touchstone.”

“If he is, we won’t break up unless he gets stupid. I’m not raising these kids alone. I can’t do a thing until after my parents leave.”

“I’m sorry. Here I’ve been whining around. You always said you’d kick him out.”

“I say all kinds of things, you know that. If we do break up, it would spare me growing old with a philandering and farting old man with shaggy eyebrows who misses the toilet.”

“Whoa, where’d that come from?”

“My father. We’re all dodging his drips.”

“Has he been philandering?”

“I don’t know, don’t they all?”

“I was hoping not.”

I told her about the last night with Steve.

“What a putz,” she said. “I never liked him. And now that I’ve told you that, you can never get back together with him.”

“Or I have to dump you.”

“Don’t even joke about it, Hannah. It’s outrageous that he’d say that to you.”

“My family is going to be so disappointed. He only has one name.”

“I like hearing you again. I better run. I can’t afford to get more than a half hour behind here.”

“Okay. Hey, if you don’t hear from me in a week, I’m electrocuted in the bathroom.”

“We talking tenement?”

“Yeah, but on a nice beach.”

“K. Keep calling. Love you,” she said. “And hey back, we need to remember that pizza piece. That’s a good one.” She hung up.

I couldn’t believe Oscar would do that. He seemed so dedicated to their whole thing. I hoped she was imagining things.

I put on my bathing suit and walked out past the grove to the sunny sand. The tree line ran away in both directions concealing the houses tucked behind. It was deserted except for a single paddleboard fifty yards to the left. I was tired and lonely. I decided to skip the swim and take a nap. I could barely make out my cottage; it was hidden so deep in the dark green bush. Two guys and a woman came out of an opening by the paddleboard.

I had just about made it to my tunnel when one of the guys called out. “Hey hi, you the new neighbor?”

They walked over.

“Not really, I’m only here a few weeks.”

“Mike,” he said holding out his hand. “I’m just visiting too. This is Jon and Kaia.”

Mike was about 6’2”. Jon was probably 5’5”, 5’6” something like that; it’s hard for me to say. But I’m only 5’3” and I didn’t have to tilt my head all the way back to look at him like I did Mike. Jon was lanky and sun-bleached blonde, and looked like dozens of guys I’d known growing up on the beach. All sunburn, chapped lips, and a dusting of salt. His hair looked like mine, like he’d just rolled out of bed. He probably had. His girlfriend was a spectacularly exotic woman, with shining black hair to her waist.

Mike was dark with that kinda crazy handsomeness few guys have. He was hard to take in. He was made even more handsome by the fact that he didn’t seem to know it. I wondered if I still had Cheerio goop in my hair. They headed off with the paddleboard.

I scratched the nap and dove in. I worked my way out past the breakers and then commenced one of my favorite activities in life, floating on my back supported by warm salt water. Swells passed benignly under me. The sky was clear with an occasional bird.

Two young boys were old school bodysurfing, no boogie boards. I played with them a while; then dragged out a chair and read. The boys came knocking around. They wanted to know if I’d worked on any of the pirate movies. They were on vacation with their grandmother next door for a few more days before heading back to California. They scampered off.

The grandmother came over a while later to invite me for a cookout on the beach. She said the boys couldn’t stop talking about what a good body surfer I was. Her name was Candace. She didn’t look like someone’s grandmother.

“That’s nice of you. Can I bring anything?”

“No. Just come down the tree line to the right, the boys will have the entrance lit.”

I packed up and put on warmer clothes. Tiki torches lined the tunnel into the belly of a bonfire at the center of their camp. The boys’ voices were off in the trees.

Candace was lit up in the kitchen window where I joined her, “This looks great. Very mysterious approach with the torches.”

“They’re into the pirate movies. I’m sure they grilled you. They’ve named you Calypso. It’s all very magical when the sun goes down. They’re sleeping in a hut they built.”

She’d brought the boys over for a week to give their parents a break. We dished up plates of salad and fish and sat by the fire to eat. She wanted to know all about the movie business. She was in the house getting a plate of mango slices for dessert when Mike and Jon walked down the torch lit trail. The boys bounded out of the bushes and swarmed them.

“Hey guys,” said Jon.

Candace came out. She gave Jon a look that was more than a casual welcome. Aunt Judith would approve. I couldn’t have pulled off that look if my life depended on it.

“This is Calypso,” said Candace. “Your new neighbor.”

“We met Hannah,” said Mike.

Jon sat down with a slice of mango and nodded at me.

“How was the restaurant tonight?” asked Candace.

“Packed,” said Jon. “It’s a good week for us.”

“Jon owns Luna’s in town,” said Candace. “There’s one on Maui and one in Honolulu too. Great food. Mike owns a micro-brewery in Portland.”

“Luna’s is where the action is,” said Mike.

“A brewery sounds like action,” I said.

“He makes great beer,” said Jon. “I haul it over here for the restaurants. They’re trying to work up a label for us.”

“We’re using liliko’i,” said Mike. “We haven’t quite hit it yet.”

“And you never will,” said Jon.

“Oh we’ll make it work, even if we just stick the flower on the label,” said Mike. “We like the name too much. Liliko’i Luna, something like that. The beer crew plans to come for the launch.”

“Liliko’i?” I asked.

“It’s passion fruit,” said Jon. “We make a margarita with it, and a pie. So far the beer is undrinkable.”

“We’ll get there,” said Mike.

“And I’ll buy it when you do,” said Jon.

Jon had been teaching the boys to surf.

“Fun,” I said. “I never learned, but I spent a lot of time watching boys surf. I decided I would never waste time watching boys surf again. I needed to live my own life.”

Jon looked amused by that. “Watching other people live their life is overrated. Where’d you watch boys surf?”

“La Jolla,” I said. “That’s my home town.”

“I went to college in La Jolla, worked at Scripps,” said Jon.

“Jon comes for dessert every night he doesn’t have to close the restaurant,” said Candace. “I’d be eating their liliko’i pie every night if it was up to me.”

“You really wouldn’t,” said Jon.

“Yeah she would,” said Mike. He smiled at me. “It is passion fruit.”

I felt tired and like there was some subtext that I wasn’t getting, and didn’t care about. I thanked Candace for dinner and said my good-byes. I told the boys I’d be out first thing if they wanted to go another round, but she was taking them on a zip line adventure. I had a vision of my grandmother in a helmet, zipping across the jungle, hanging upside down on the line in her white leather shoes, dentures clacking with delight. I almost started laughing.

“Sounds great.” I’m sure I was grinning way beyond a zip line trip. “Have fun.”

It was a curious feeling to leave the intense heat of the fire and separate from the others. I felt lighter as my body cooled, like the heat had added to gravity. The sand was cool and squished underfoot. Small twigs and pebbles, unseen in the dark, gave my feet little stabs and pokes. I was almost to the opening in the tunnel when Mike caught up with me.